Come back, please
by Continuitatem
Summary: What will Ulquiorra do if he sees something for him from Grimmjow?


Ulquiorra sat on the leather couch, staring at his seventh shot of vodka. The television listed credits for the latest movie. The words reflected off of the glass, but Ulquiorra ignored that. He was thinking. Thinking about what could have happened, what didn't happen, and the endless possibilities. Thinking about the way he smiled, his charisma, his single-tracked mind.

Realising the movie was over; Ulquiorra stood to eject the DVD. Sliding it back into the sleeve, he replaced it to its spot on the shelf and paused. He spotted a box, dusty and untouched. Picking it up and dusting it off, he opened it. Inside was a disc, and in a messy scrawl was written a dedication – to him.

Frowning, he popped it into the player. He had never seen this before. What was it?

The screen went black, and before Ulquiorra could react, white words appeared in the same, almost-illegible writing. It seemed almost familiar. Ulquiorra downed his seventh shot and began to read.

_Hey there. This is probably going to be late, and I have no idea if you still remember me. Besides, if you're reading this, then I've been dead for a month or something like that. I have no idea if your maids actually remember this stuff. But hopefully, a good check for $500 can convince them, yeah? Anyways, I just wanted to tell you I loved you. And I still love you, even if I'm dead. If there's a Heaven, that's exactly where you're going. That's where angels belong, isn't that right? And me... I guess I'm going to be stuck in a not so great place. But don't worry. I'm a fighter. Maybe I'll get to see you again. _

_I just want you to know that I forgive you for everything you could have done to me that I haven't forgiven yet. _

_I was going to propose to you, you know. I just wasn't sure when. Bit silly now, isn't it? Since I'm dead and all and you have nothing to marry but a memory, even if you said yes. But that's ok. I just want you to be happy. Do you miss me? _

_Do you even remember me? _

_Don't forget, Ulqui. Schwarze Katzen sind nicht unglücklich. Sie sind nur weiße Katzen warten auf jemanden, den sie lieben, sie zu reinigen. You showed me that. _

Ulquiorra continued to stare at the screen long after it finished. Those two lines he taught him so long ago.

"Grimmjow." Ulquiorra whispered.

He couldn't do this anymore. Every day. For a month. He wasn't as strong as people thought. His icy exterior never lasted for long. Every minute, every second was dominated by Grimmjow. His love, his life.

He remembered that fateful day. He had pushed Grimmjow out the door, demanding that he never come back. He had caught him with someone else, with a woman of all things. In his bed, naked.

He didn't listen to his frantic explanations. He simply threw Grimmjow out, and proceeded to sit on the sidewalk, watching Grimmjow go with tears coursing down his cheek. He remembered how Grimmjow stopped at the top of the hill, to look at Ulquiorra. And he remembered the car that spun out of control, and crushed his love under about 4,500 pounds of metal.

He remembered his shaky voice as he called the ambulance and police. He remembered the flash of lights, the high pitched sirens. He could remember how Grimmjow looked, covered in blood, bits of blood-drenched bone sticking out of his body. He could remember the little rise and fall of Grimmjow's chest, proving that he was alive, but barely.

He could remember the disgustingly clean smell of the hospital. He remembered clutching a cup of coffee to warm his hands. He remembered the few visitors sitting beside him, asking him if he was alright. None asked about Grimmjow.

He remembered hours later, as the surgeon walked out and told Ulquiorra that Grimmjow was alive – but barely. How the surgery was successful.

And that Grimmjow would probably never be able to move again.

Ulquiorra had stood in front of the thick glass separating him from Grimmjow. He had no tears for him; the grief had left him numb. He slept over at the hospital, often looking at Grimmjow. It was his entire fault that Grimmjow was like this. If only he had listened. If only he let Grimmjow explain he wouldn't be like this right now.

And after a week, Grimmjow seemed to come around. He looked up, and responded to questions. He would laugh weakly from time to time and just lie there in quiet happiness after telling Ulquiorra again and again that he was sorry to have done that.

He had kept apologising himself, telling Grimmjow that he should have listened. Grimmjow accepted his apology only to make him feel better. After all, Grimmjow had reasoned, it was his fault for even doing something as stupid as letting that woman do what she wanted.

Grimmjow seemed to be getting better. He _was_ getting better. To the shock of all the surgeons and doctors, he wiggled his fingers. With the injuries he had, according to them, he would not be able to move anything below his neck.

Of course, Grimmjow was always full of surprises.

A week after showing the doctors his ability to do the impossible, Grimmjow slipped into a coma. He never woke up from it and the doctors had no choice but to pull life support.

Ulquiorra had stayed by his side, up until the doctors' verdict. He went home, opened a bottle of Russia's finest and drank until he slept. This would soon become a daily habit.

Ulquiorra shook himself out of his reverie. He couldn't do this anymore. A month after Grimmjow died, and he was still punishing himself.

Ulquiorra stood up and dug through his counters for all the medication he could find. Pouring them all out onto the table, he stared at them. Could he do it? Could he die, just to join Grimmjow again? What would happen, if anything? Is there really a Heaven, a Hell?

It wouldn't matter. He would either end what he felt, or he would see Grimmjow again. Both were worth it.

Smiling, he prayed for the first time in his life.

_If you exist, God, then let me die and see him again. Amen._

He swallowed every last one of the pills, chased them down with his last shot of vodka and asked one more thing.

_Forgive me, Grimmjow. I couldn't wait that long. _

**A/N: **_**Hey, thank you for reading this! It's just going to be dedications here. This came to me in the middle of the night while listening to **_Runaway – Cascada_**. It's a great song. And I might come up with a prequel to this. Yes or no? Please leave a review for me! Tell me if it's up to your standards, my dearest readers.**_


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